


all is merry and bright

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Christmas, Christmas Smut, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Power Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: And then it occurs to him. He’s done some very un-Eddie things lately, or so some would say (like Myra and her lawyer), and one very un-Eddie thing would be to fly to Chicago to surprise Richie for Christmas....
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 156





	all is merry and bright

Eddie’s been brave the past few months; he’s taken chances, bet on the impossible, and won. And _lived_. He’s done things the old Eddie would never have dreamed of doing. That’s why it seems like this is a good idea, surprising Richie for Christmas.

Eddie’s still in New York, attempting to untangle the massive mess of legal issues and paperwork that comes with a sudden divorce. He’s straining to leave; he wants nothing more than to move to Chicago, where Richie is, and although he’s visited him there a few times, he hasn’t said anything yet about moving. Now, he feels drawn there like it’s a lodestone. He finds himself looking westward out of his apartment windows and almost thinking he can see Richie if he tries hard enough. He fights the urge to just book a flight and fly away, but he knows he has to dot every i and cross every t and put a final end to things before he can leave.

The idea comes to him one evening when he’s FaceTiming with Richie after dinner, like usual. Richie’s always asking to come visit—well, he hints at it, really, and it makes Eddie’s heart pang every time, the hesitant way he suggests “flying out there,” like he knows Eddie will tell him no. And Eddie does tell him no—because he doesn’t want Richie tangled up in this, doesn’t want to associate Richie with this apartment, the apartment Myra moved out of and which still feels like her and reminds him of her. She lived here for many years and made him feel guilty over the fact that she chose to move out, and he’d hate feeling like at every turn she’d be there, an apparition of her staring at him, face pink with condemnation, every time he’d be trying to push Richie against a wall and kiss him. Sure, if he had to, he'd let Richie stay here, but it's much easier to go to Chicago and stay at Richie's, which he’s done a few times in just the past few months, his dislike of air travel no longer seeming so important now.

Richie asks this time too, in his way, but this time is a little different, because it’s December. “I could fly to Ye Olde Big Apple for Christmas.”

“Nobody calls it ‘the Big Apple,’” Eddie says automatically, noting how Richie suggests it in such a sideways way. His heart cracks a little. Even now Richie apparently suspects Eddie will say no to him, and, well, he has, and he doesn’t completely tell Richie why because it sounds stupid, saying he doesn’t want Richie in the same place where Myra lived. 

“Why not? I call Chicago ‘the Big Sausage,’” Richie says, and Eddie laughs despite himself, suddenly remembering the night when they’d all gone back to the Derry Town House flush with an otherworldly sense of triumph, and he’d geared himself up to go to Richie’s room at three in the morning, and Richie had sat down heavily on his bed and told him he was gay like he was admitting something dreadful, and Eddie had grabbed the mussed curls at the back of Richie’s head and tilted him up and kissed his surprised mouth, kissed him again like he had done to free him from the deadlights, and pressed him back onto the dingy bedspread, Richie letting him do it. Richie hadn’t made dick jokes that night—morning—and in fact had been almost shy, but now there was no stopping him, claiming that now that he was out he had a special license and duty to.

“They just don’t call it that,” Eddie tells him. “That’s a tourist thing.”

“You’re from Maine,” Richie points out.

“So are you, and don’t remind me,” Eddie says. 

And then it occurs to him. He’s done some very un-Eddie things lately, or so some would say (like Myra and her lawyer), and one very un-Eddie thing would be to fly to Chicago to surprise Richie for Christmas.... 

The wheels in his head start turning, but he says, “Anyway, it’s too close to Christmas to get a good price on a flight. Besides, I wouldn’t be a good host to you—it’s not only going to be month-end, it’s year-end and numbers don’t take a holiday, and my emails will pile up like crazy. Plus, this time of year airports and airplanes are even worse germ incubators than usual. You could get really sick.” It’s crap and Eddie is almost surprised lightning doesn’t strike him for such a lie—he’d be willing to be fired to have Richie here, and he wouldn’t really care if they both had the flu, or pneumonia, if that’s what it took. Instead, he’s going to go to Richie.

He regrets his exciting new plan when Richie’s face falls, and his heart cracks more when Richie almost immediately schools his features into a casual expression. “That’s cool,” Richie says, shrugging. He hadn’t had any trouble at all buying Eddie’s excuses. _This is the last time I’m going to lie to him or disappoint him like this_ , Eddie pledges to himself. _This is temporary. I will make it up to him when I see him_.

“We’ll see each other when we can,” Eddie promises, and means it—he can, at least, take comfort in knowing he’s sincere in saying that.

\-------

Richie doesn’t go to sleep just yet after he finally hangs up with Eddie, having hoped that he didn’t seem like he was dwelling on how neatly Eddie had shot down his suggestion of coming out to see him. Eddie did that every time, and every time Richie had to fight against the insidious thread of doubt that snaked into his thoughts. He’d probably misread that night in the Town House. Yeah, Eddie had told him he loved him, but that was the adrenaline talking; and besides, Eddie’s love for him was the same as it was for the other Losers, the love of friends with an unbreakable bond. Eddie had risked his life to save Richie’s. Maybe that and the occasional visits to Chicago summed up all the sacrifices he was willing to make, and fuck, Richie doesn’t have the right to ask for more than that. He already has way more than he could ever hope to deserve.

But the thought of being in Chicago alone for Christmas is unbearable. Lying here just like this in the dark and the cold, alone. It’s this or going out and getting drunk, and he doesn’t want to do either. He starts thinking.

So Eddie will be busy over Christmas. Couldn’t he, theoretically, answer emails with Richie there? Richie’s willing to watch TV, chill out on the couch, go to a coffee shop while Eddie’s working. He’s willing to do whatever Eddie tells him, not that he’s eager to admit that to just anybody. It would be worth it, definitely, just to be there with him. If Eddie’s worried about germs, he can get a hotel room, if Eddie won’t let him sleep on the couch. He’ll dose himself up with Emergen-C, bring hand sanitizer, whatever Eddie directs him to do. But Richie was already told no, and he knows if he asks again, the answer will be the same. 

So he’s only got one option, Richie thinks as he sits up and grabs his phone. 

Richie’s aware that, although he’s talked big, taken a bat to and taunted an evil clown, in a lot of things throughout his life, he’s been a coward, letting his fear take over, letting it show him the easy route, the one where he waited for someone else to make the first move. You could end up wasting every chance you had, living like that.

He’s going to have to be brave, like Eddie was, and take a risk. He thinks of Eddie steeling his nerves and saving his life. _You’re braver than you think_.

If Eddie can be that brave, Richie thinks as he types out a text to his travel agent, Richie can do this.

\-------

Flying from New York to Chicago on Christmas Eve is, Eddie thinks as he finishes packing, a tremendously stupid idea, and definitely _not_ something the old Eddie Kaspbrak would have done.

But he’s a new Eddie Kaspbrak now, and maybe this Eddie is kind of stupid.

He is, however, not so stupid that he doesn’t realize he needs to be at the airport hours ahead of time in order to decrease the likelihood of a lot going wrong. 

Before he leaves for the airport, he calls Richie. If he calls from the airport, if they FaceTime it’ll be clear that he’s not at home, and if he doesn’t use FaceTime Richie will wonder why, so he’s got to call him weirdly earlier than their usual call. 

“Wanted to go ahead and call you since I’m going to be locked down in work for a few hours prior to the holiday, and it might be too late to call by the time I’m done,” Eddie lies through his teeth to Richie’s slightly strained smile. _Last time I’m lying to him like this_ , Eddie promises himself. _It’ll be worth the temporary discomfort to surprise him_. 

They shoot the shit, but Eddie’s mindful of the time restriction and hopes his distraction and impatience don’t show on his face. “Okay, I’d better go,” he finally says, and Richie’s face falls a little and then he looks kind of startled for some reason. “Merry Christmas Eve, sweetheart, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He smiles; that’s true, at least, and Richie smiles too, and seems maybe a little less sad. “I love you,” he adds, and Richie says “I love you too,” in a kind of rushed way with his cheeks pink.

“We’ll see each other when we can,” Eddie promises, and ends the call. 

Time to get out of here, and go to see Richie.

\-------

“Shit,” Richie says, staring at the time on his phone. He needs to pack, and he needs to get going. Even with a night flight, he can’t seem to get ready on time. He’d stayed on the couch, trying to calm his nervousness through scrolling on his phone; not only had it not worked, he’s now in danger of being late. If he misses his flight, he might be spared Eddie’s frustration and irritation at a possibly unwelcome surprise—Richie knows Eddie doesn’t like surprises, and for a second he considers sparing himself and Eddie and cancelling the flight—but if he doesn’t go, who knows when he’ll see Eddie again in person at all?

He grabs his duffel from the closet and rushes around, throwing an assortment of clothes into it, tossing in toiletries. If Eddie could see him right now, he’d be scolding him nonstop about his horrible packing methodology. He smiles thinking about it, but he doesn’t slow down. 

He’s still rushing full tilt when he flings the door open, frantically locks it, and barrels down the hallway toward the elevator. As he rounds the corner, he crashes directly into someone, and goes ass over teakettle. Someone’s yelling at him, and it sounds like—

\-------

“Asshole!” Eddie shouts at the idiot who wasn’t watching where he was going and plowed directly into him at full speed from around a corner in Richie’s hallway. The guy is all limbs, tall and heavy, his duffel crashing into Eddie and then falling to the floor as he trips over himself and tumbles. A shocked face blinks up at him through glasses, curls gone crazy. 

And— It’s Richie. Of course it’s Richie.

“Rich,” Eddie gasps, dropping immediately to his knees, grabbing Richie’s shoulders. “What the hell are you doing? Where the fuck are you going, get back in your apartment, I’m surprising you.”

“Fuck! Consider me surprised,” Richie gasps. “C’mon, lemme go, I’m gonna miss my flight to surprise you.”

“Dickwad, this is like one of the worst days of the year to fly,” Eddie says absently. He cups Richie’s face in his hands, and peers at him. “Are you okay? Fucking… barrelling around corners like a bull in a china shop.”

“I’m fine. I think,” Richie says, sounding a little breathless. He blinks. “Uh. Are you really… here? Wait, did I give myself a concussion or something?”

“Of course I’m here. What the fuck does it look like?” Eddie replies, still holding Richie’s face in his hands. 

“I don’t know,” Richie says, shrugging helplessly. “I mean, you said you were gonna be busy, and I didn’t think you… liked flying. Because of the germs.” He looks wary, guarded. Eddie hates that instead of wrapping his arms around him in joyous reunion, Richie seems hesitant to touch him. Meanwhile, they’re still all tangled up on Richie’s hallway floor, and a woman in curlers several doors down is staring at them. Eddie gives her a pointed look, and she immediately pulls her head back in.

“Let’s get inside, Rich,” Eddie says, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to help pull Richie up.

\-------

Richie’s still not sure Eddie’s really here in Chicago, standing in his kitchen looking flushed from the cold outside and the exertion, drying his hands after thoroughly washing them. He’s… honestly not sure what to make of it. 

“Why are you here?” he asks.

Eddie stares at him for a second. “I already told you—I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to see you. For Christmas.”

Ah, okay. Wanted to see him—that made sense. Eddie, freshly divorced, didn’t want to spend Christmas alone in his apartment. He figured Richie would be alone—and he’d be right about that—and at the last minute he’d somehow wrangled a flight here, maybe. “Better than being alone on Christmas, I guess,” Richie allows.

Eddie gives him an odd look, and takes off his coat and hat. “Fuck yes it is,” he says, and puts them both on the handle of his rolling carryon. Turning back to Richie, he adds, “So, you were going to surprise me?” and folds his arms. Richie feels himself flushing. 

“Yeah,” he admits, and rubs the back of his neck. “I just… I figured that since you were gonna be really busy, I could just, like, watch TV or go to a coffee shop near my hotel or something. I dunno.”

Eddie steps closer. “You think I’d make you stay in a hotel?”

“I don’t know.” Richie shrugs. “Maybe?”

Eddie sighs. “I lied to you, Rich, I’m sorry,” he says, and Richie thinks _Oh shit, he’s going to tell me he never meant it when he said he loved me_. His stomach drops. _Here it comes_. 

Stepping closer still, Eddie cups his jaw again. Richie holds very still. _Oh fuck. I’m going to be let down easy_.

“I don’t really have all that much work I have to do over Christmas,” is what Eddie tells him, “and I’m not really that worried about germs on planes— I mean, yeah, okay, maybe a little, but it’s worth the risk, Rich. I mean, I don’t want you to get sick, I just— I just wanted to see you. Is… is that okay?” Eddie’s eyes are wide, a little sad. “You don’t seem…. I mean, is it okay that I’m here?”

Richie laughs, shaky. “Eddie,” he says, “Remember how I just ran you down trying to catch a flight to see you?”

Eddie’s cheeks turn a little pink, and he drops his hand. “Well!” he says, defensive. “You don’t— You’re not—”

“I’m in shock, that’s all!” Richie says, a little loudly. “I mean, this is all I wanted for Christmas, you gotta give me a second to get with the program.”

“It is?” Eddie asks, and Eddie of all people should never have to be uncertain about Richie wanting him, wanting anything he chooses to give. Richie acutely remembers once again following him around like a lovesick puppy even when they were little kids and the only outlet he had for his unknowable feelings was teasing and shoving.

“Eds,” Richie says, “again, I was rushing out of here to see you even though I was pretty sure there was a possibility you might kick me out.”

“Rich, I wouldn’t—”

“Well, I don’t know!” Richie throws his hands up. 

“Richie!” Eddie says sternly, grabbing his arms. “You’re acting like I flew here to, like, break up with you in person or something.”

Richie stutters out a startled laugh—that hits too closely to his earlier fear—and before he knows it Eddie’s wrapping his arms tightly around him. Richie tries to keep still for a little while, but eventually can’t hold out any longer and melts into him. He sighs, and Eddie hums, shifts back, gets on his tiptoes, and kisses him. 

Richie wraps his arms around Eddie, pulling him against him, and when he parts his lips Eddie practically devours him. And something in Richie just dissolves away; he presses Eddie against the counter, hauls him up, hands under his compact little hips, and instead of protesting that he _shouldn’t be sitting on the kitchen counter in his travel clothes Richie what the fuck_ Eddie is inhaling sharply and wrapping his strong little legs around Richie’s waist. In the course of Eddie practically consuming him, Richie realizes why Eddie probably isn’t upset and it’s because Eddie doesn’t have to strain upward to kiss him. 

“Rich, Rich,” Eddie eventually gasps out between kisses, “as much as I’m enjoying making out with you fully clothed in the kitchen: bed, please.”

Unable to say anything, just nodding stupidly, Richie hoists Eddie off the counter, still clumsily trying to kiss him, and walks with him to his bedroom, Eddie’s legs still wrapped around him. 

“God, that was hot,” Eddie gets out as Richie deposits him on the bed; not sure what he means exactly, Richie’s reminded for a moment of Eddie pressing him back onto the bed in the Town House. Then Eddie’s taking off his shoes, grabbing for Richie’s shirt, and soon they’re down to their socks and underwear. “Missed you so much,” Eddie grunts, grabbing and pulling him over him again, his kisses suddenly frantic. Between them, Eddie’s hands scramble to get first Richie’s waistband down—he can’t help gasping into Eddie’s mouth as Eddie’s hand wraps briefly around his cock—and then his own, and then Richie shifts his weight to one arm and uses the other to wrap around both of their dicks. Eddie’s leaking like crazy, like he always seems to, thrusting up into Richie’s grip, panting. Richie feels like he hasn’t touched Eddie in several lifetimes, is suddenly seized with the feeling that he can’t ever get enough of him, caught up in how quickly things escalated just now like he was seized by a riptide. 

Eddie sighs shakily against his lips and digs his fingers into Richie’s shoulders, grinding slowly and coming over Richie’s fingers, and Richie can’t stop himself from making a sound low in his throat as he comes too, helpless to stop it. 

Mindful of his glasses, he presses his face into Eddie’s neck, gasping against his warm skin, inhaling his scent. He wants nothing more than to be like this: with Eddie in his bed, wrapped up in Eddie’s arms, sweaty and flushed and eight miles high.

“Rich,” Eddie says, shifting back, voice a soft rasp. “Hey.” He combs his fingers gently through Richie’s slightly damp hair. 

“Hey,” Richie whispers back, moving to look at him.

“Love you,” Eddie murmurs, eyes bright. He cranes to give him a quick but firm kiss. “Now lemme up so I can shower off this airport grossness.”

\-------

Although it’s almost too late in the evening to order delivery, Richie insists on ordering sushi, crispy roast pork, crab fried rice, steam buns, and kimchi from Momotaro, because Eddie must be starving, and it’s true. After they eat most of it, lounging on Richie’s couch in their underwear, and put away the rest, they watch “A Christmas Story” with Richie saying every line no matter how often Eddie protests. By the end, Richie’s yawning, and Eddie gets up with a groan, takes his hand, and leads him to bed.

“Sleep,” Eddie tells him, once their teeth are brushed and Eddie’s pulling the covers over them.

“Hey, I make no promises,” Richie says, palms up.

“If you don’t go to sleep, Santa can’t come,” Eddie says, burrowing against his chest. 

“I had that problem but I think it was my depression medication,” Richie says, and Eddie kisses him to shut him up. 

“Good night, Rich.”

“Good night, John Boy.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Shutting up and going to sleep,” Richie says, wrapping him up in his arms. But they do fall asleep like that.

Eddie wakes up first; neither of them set an alarm, but once it’s light in the bedroom he remembers where he is. Richie is sound asleep, snoring lightly, and Eddie’s reminded of when they were kids on the occasions he’d managed to wheedle permission from Sonia to sleep over at the Toziers’, or at another Loser’s house for a sleepover. He and Richie always ended up tangled together on Richie’s bed, or in sleeping bags next to each other; Richie always fell asleep right away and slept hard, but Eddie would stay up later and wake up earlier, thinking, not usually about anything in particular but just glad to be there, away from Sonia and with his friends, especially Richie, for reasons he didn’t examine too closely.

He kisses Richie awake, taking his time: chin, jaw, neck, temple. As Richie slowly returns to consciousness, he blinks, glassesless, a look of wonder and slight confusion on his face now rather than wariness. Eddie cups his face in his hands and gently kisses his slightly parted lips. He never wanted to wake Myra up this way, and if he had, he’s sure she would have protested and told him to brush his teeth. But there’s no need to think about Myra right now, Eddie reminds himself as Richie hums, slides his arms around him, and kisses him back.

“Coffee,” Eddie whispers, grinning, “breakfast, presents,” between kisses as Richie presses him back into the sheets. “Rich,” he adds, and Richie shifts back, pouting. “Later,” Eddie tells him, following with a firm kiss on the mouth, stifling a laugh. “Later, I promise. It’ll be worth the wait.”

Richie pushes himself up with a sigh. “Wouldn’t have imagined myself putting off Christmas morning in favor of making out in bed when I was a kid,” he remarks as he stands up, holding out a hand for Eddie, scrunching up his nose in mock disgust at himself, as if he were still a boy who thought kissing was gross.

“Even with me?” Eddie teases, and Richie _blushes_.

“Okay. Only with you,” he allows, and Eddie wraps his arms around him once they’re both standing up.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, and after a moment more Eddie lets him go to pull him to the kitchen.

They have coffee, and Richie makes them Belgian waffles and scrambled eggs. “I only have one thing for you,” Eddie admits, setting down his coffee cup, grinning despite himself when that announcement makes Richie waggle his eyebrows. “I stopped at this fancy-ass liquor store before I got here, I thought we could have it today to, you know, celebrate.” Getting up, he walks to his suitcase and takes out a wrapped bottle.

“Sweet, a new bike,” Richie says, and Eddie laughs, handing him the bottle, which Richie unwraps. “Nice, Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. Thanks, babe. I,” he starts, setting it on the counter and rubbing the back of his head, “was… planning to make you something nice for dinner, like, I’ve got some prime rib in the fridge, so….” 

“Oh, perfect,” Eddie says, “c’mere,” and pulls Richie down to kiss him. But Richie’s still pink in the face. “What is it?” 

“I just….” Richie clears his throat. “My present is… kind of lame.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Eddie says, following Richie back to the bedroom. From his duffel, Richie takes out a small package and hands it to him. It’s wrapped in Snoopy paper. Eddie unwraps it, and… it’s a package of boxer briefs. Richie covers his face with his hands, but he’s laughing softly. 

One pair has a cartoon Santa on the front, with his bag over the crotch and some words about a package. Another has a brick chimney over the crotch, the third has two round bells with “Jingle My Bells” above that in script, and the fourth is green with mistletoe with some more words that Eddie doesn’t read yet because he’s laughing as Richie groans.

“I can’t believe you bought me tacky-ass seasonal novelty underwear,” Eddie says, smacking Richie with a pair, grinning. “I should have bought you ugly socks.”

“Hey, I was hoping for a fashion show,” Richie protests. “And then, you know, we’ll see what happens.”

“Oh yeah, was this all planned, you think you’ll get lucky?” 

Somehow, ever since they left Neibolt—or maybe it only really started after the Town House—it’s been more common for Eddie to feel like he has the upper hand, where Richie gets almost bashful and Eddie can tease him. Richie seems to love it, and, well, so does Eddie. It’s something about knowing he’s wanted, and that what he wants, he can have, after all. And he’s always loved watching Richie react to him.

“Have you been a good boy?” he continues, and Richie turns even pinker and flips him off. 

“Fuck you, you know I haven’t.”

“Oh well. You might get something nice anyway,” Eddie says. “Wait here,” he instructs, wagging a finger at Richie before going back to the bedroom to change. Yeah, the underwear hasn’t been washed, but he thinks he can deal—it won’t be on long, anyway. “Which one do you want to see first?” he calls, even though he’s pretty sure it’s not like he’s going to be trying them all on.

“Surprise me,” Richie answers, and Eddie decides on the jingle bell ones. 

While Eddie’s liked going to the gym for a long time now, it hadn’t necessarily been because he was trying for a certain look; it had mostly been because he’d obsessed over his heart rate and all those other numbers that served as some kind of insurance against being in bad shape. He knows now that a lot of it was to have somewhere to put his energy after work, and, well, to not have to be around Myra sometimes. He would always sanitize like crazy, keep himself from looking around in the locker room, and get out of there as quickly as he could. But the upshot was that he was now in pretty decent shape, and he was aware of it in a different way than he’d been when he was nervous about guys in the locker room checking him out. He can admit now that part of him hadn’t really minded it. 

And now, he definitely doesn’t mind in the slightest when it’s Richie. He thinks he knows now how Richie looks at him, how he’s maybe always looked at him, even when Eddie didn’t know what he was seeing. It’s taken some time to let himself believe that he’s worth those looks. And it’s taken some time to let himself believe that it’s okay to want what he’s denied himself for so long. 

But now, he wants to indulge. He thinks he, and Richie, probably deserve it.

\-------

Eddie walks back into the room in that stupid little pair of Christmas underwear and RIchie wonders once again how he of all people got this lucky.

Eddie’s blushing a little, but smirking, dimples on display, and while Richie knows he’s still that same wide-eyed nervous kid he fell in love with and the scared but brave man he fell in love with again, this is a new side of Eddie he can’t believe he’s able to witness. He’s always thought Eddie was cute, but it’s an unexpected gift to see Eddie embracing that fact too. 

And he is really, really cute. Richie can’t help feeling like kind of a schlub in comparison—he’s definitely got major bedhead, although he kind of does all the time anyway, and his athletic socks and green and red plaid boxers are nothing special—so it’s a surprise when Eddie, actually the very picture of fucking hotness, walks toward him with purpose and a sudden look in his dark eyes that Richie thinks he understands, but is no less kind of astonished to see. But— 

“Jesus fuck you’re hot,” Eddie mutters, half to himself, sounding almost angry about it. Richie automatically reaches back to grab the counter behind him, as Eddie drops to his knees in front of him and cups his crotch over his boxers, where Richie’s been getting hard ever since he started really thinking about Eddie in those boxer briefs. Richie gasps, closing his eyes for a second. “You know that?” Eddie continues, aggressive. “You’re so fucking hot, Rich.”

“Okay,” Richie manages, opening his eyes to watch Eddie squeezing him, massaging his cock to a state of extreme awareness and interest as he rubs the tip of his nose against the top of Richie’s thigh. Eddie reaches into his fly and draws him out, wrapping his fingers nimbly around him as Richie shudders briefly and presses his face into his own shoulder in an attempt to stifle himself. Something in him is still shocked all over every time Eddie does something like this, although in fairness, they haven’t had much time yet for stuff like this to happen at all. Then Eddie’s warm, wet mouth is around him, his tongue stroking him, and Richie groans and grips the counter’s edge. “Oh, Jesus fuck, Eddie, have mercy.”

Eddie fucking hums what sounds like a _no_ and Richie’s knees shake. He wants to close his eyes, the sudden flood of sensation almost too much for him to process, but also holy shit does he want to stare down at Eddie and fucking memorize everything about what’s happening to him: Eddie in just the little green boxer briefs Richie gave him, already with a bulge and a wet spot in the crotch, skin faintly flushed, and most importantly, lips around Richie’s dick. Without thinking about it, Richie lets go of the counter with one hand and curls his fingers in Eddie’s hair; Eddie makes a sound and Richie freezes, thinking he’s about to get yelled at, but instead Eddie practically deepthroats him, at the same time as he moves a hand to cover Richie’s and encourage him to press his own head forward. Richie takes the cue. 

Richie’s starting to pant, tilting his head back because he knows he’s going to come if he keeps looking and he wants to prolong this as much as he can, when Eddie stops, draws off, and when Richie looks down at him in a daze, says, “Rich. I want you to fuck me.”

Standing there with his hard dick poking out of his fly, red and slick, Richie nods dumbly, and follows Eddie to the bedroom. 

Eddie’s already taking off those stupid boxer briefs, while Richie stares stupidly at his hot little body; grabbing the lube he knew was in Richie’s nightstand, Eddie gets on the bed and slicks up his fingers. Richie wraps a hand around himself, trying to keep himself from just goddamn jizzing at the very sight of Eddie Kaspbrak naked on his bed prepping himself for Richie to bare-ass fuck him. They had a very fruitful discussion weeks ago about condoms, the upshot of which was that Eddie didn’t see a need for them given the data at hand, and with this conversation in mind, plus the display before him of Eddie naked on his back with his thighs spread, two fingers in his ass, and his hard cock leaking on his belly, Richie’s scrambling out of his boxers and nearly tripping.

“Watch out, Rich, Jesus, you’ll break your neck,” Eddie manages. “Get over here already.”

Hastily, Richie clambers onto the bed and bridges himself over Eddie, fairly sure all his blood is in his dick, which is throbbing painfully; at the same time, he can’t get enough of the sight of Eddie fucking himself on his fingers, skin pink and lips parted, eyes dark as he stares unfocusedly up at Richie like every wet dream Richie has ever had, even during the time he’d forgotten Eddie entirely. Although, maybe, something in him never really had.

Finally, finally, Eddie slips his fingers out and frames his legs around Richie’s hips, hooking him in; Richie fumbles to grab his cock and guide himself in before Eddie gets a chance to fuss at him, as much as he likes the idea of Eddie begging for Richie to fuck him. Eddie locks his legs around his pelvis and pulls him in as Richie groans, shaky, wondering if this is how he dies.

“You can’t come until after I do,” Eddie tells him as Richie sinks into his tight heat, and no, _that_ is going to be how he dies. Ironic.

Eddie wraps an arm around Richie’s neck, the other snaking between them as with a loud gasp Eddie wraps a hand around himself. “Fuck, Eddie,” Richie pants. He wants to tell Eddie how hot he is, how amazing he feels, how much Richie wants him and how incredibly lucky he is, but his words abandon him. 

Instead, he realizes Eddie’s telling him “Fuck, Rich, you feel so good, I’ve missed this so much,” and Richie sucks in a deep, sudden breath, remembering that first night at the Town House when Eddie had insisted that this was what he wanted even though he’d never done it before. Richie, half sure it was all a dream, had done everything he’d asked, more patient and careful than he’d ever thought he could be. It had been more than worth it all, worth everything, and if this was still a dream, then sign Richie up for Mayor of Dream Town.

“Eddie—” he gasps again, and Eddie pulls him down and kisses him. It’s a loose, hot, slick kiss—it has to be, because Eddie’s breathing hard, moaning and half-whispering as Richie starts to fuck him.

Richie tries desperately to keep himself under control, waiting for Eddie to come first. He’s not sure how he’s going to stand it, but he will; he has to.

“Rich, Rich,” Eddie murmurs between breaths and brushes of his mouth over Richie’s, “fuck, you feel so fucking good, you fill me up so good, Jesus—”

“Eddie, please,” Richie groans, not caring how frantic or desperate he sounds, and Eddie laughs, shaky.

“Rich, sweetheart, I’m close, I’m close,” he breathes. Richie can feel him stroking himself between them, faster, a soft sound breaking in his throat as he shivers hard, tightens his legs around Richie’s hips, and gasps out, “Fuck.” Richie shifts back a little to see his face; Eddie’s eyes, big and dark, lock to his. Eddie’s hand slides up his back to grip his hair, and he mutters, “Come on, Rich, come on, sweetheart, come for me, _fuck_ I love you so much,” and Richie comes so hard he thinks he might’ve broken something. _Comes his guts out_ , as he’s been known to put it.

Eddie kisses his neck, his jaw, until Richie can’t hold out anymore and collapses on him. Mindful again of not digging his glasses into Eddie’s skin, he blows a raspberry against his neck and says, “Did I stuff your stocking good, baby? Did I jingle your bells?”

“Rich,” Eddie protests, laughing, unwrapping his legs from their vice grip around Richie; Richie pulls out with a groan, but Eddie doesn’t let him go far right away, cupping his jaw and kissing him, little nipping kisses. “Shower,” he finally whispers, smiling.

Lunch is the Momotaro leftovers; freshly showered, but still just in underwear, they lounge on the couch again to eat it. Eddie for some reason then gets a wild hair to go for a walk; no matter how Richie tries to dissuade him (“You’ll get lost in a snowbank, Eds”), he insists on going. Almost immediately, however, he’s bitching and complaining about how his face is freezing but the rest of him is hot, et fucking cetera. It is, in a way, music to Richie’s ears, and he hides a smile in his thick scarf. But he also agrees with Eddie: this sucks.

“Fucking Chicago,” Richie remarks, squinting in the thin winter sunlight as they walk back to the building, gloved hands stuffed in his pockets.

“I mean,” Eddie interjects, “Chicago’s fine, I don’t have a problem with Chicago.” He clears his throat.

“It’s like this every winter, Eds,” Richie says. “Probably worse than New York,” he adds, pronouncing “New York” in the most annoying New York accent possible.

“No, I mean, I could deal with it. I can deal with it,” Eddie protests, which doesn’t make any sense given the tear he was just on.

“Eds—”

“You’re here, so I could deal with Chicago,” Eddie continues, stubborn, looping his arm through Richie’s. 

“Oh,” Richie says, getting it. “So you….” He trails off, heart hammering, and can’t quite bring himself to say it.

“If you want me here, yes,” Eddie says. 

Richie stops, now in front of his building. “Fuck yes I want you here, Eddie. I—” In the middle of the sidewalk, Eddie turns, cups Richie’s face in his gloved hands, and leans up to kiss him. 

“You’re freezing,” Eddie tells him, smiling. “Get inside and we’ll have hot cocoa. You _do_ have hot cocoa, right?”

“Yeah, yes,” Richie answers, dazed. Eddie takes his hand and they head inside.

In his kitchen, he watches as Eddie easily takes over the hot cocoa prep. Richie’s struck by how Eddie _fits_ here, and how happy he looks, how content. He watches as Eddie layers the tops of their mugs with mini marshmallows, just the way they liked it as kids.

“You really want to move here?” Richie asks, hesitant. “You want to live here, in Chicago with… me?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Rich,” Eddie scoffs, and licks some cocoa foam off his lip. “Who else would I live with?”

“Well, I just…. You didn’t seem to want me to stay with you in New York, so—”

“I stay with you when I visit here!” Eddie points out.

“Yeah, but…. I don’t know, I thought you were… keeping me at a distance.” Richie winces. It’s a painful thing to admit. 

“Rich! No, I just….” Eddie sighs. “I don’t really want you in what was basically Myra’s old apartment. Like…” he hastens to add, when Richie’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open a little, “I don’t want to associate you with it or with her. You don’t deserve to be tangled up in all that shit. As soon as everything’s in the clear there, yeah, yes, I would love to move out here to be with you. If you haven’t changed your mind and you’ll still have me.”

“I haven’t changed my mind about you in three decades, apparently, so the odds of that are low.” Richie sets down his mug and folds his arms. “Eds,” he says, and Eddie looks up, expectant. “I think this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had, like, ever.”

Eddie steps close. “Me too,” he says, voice soft. They’re both silent for a moment, and then Eddie wraps his arms around him, tight. “And we have wine and prime rib tonight to celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Richie whispers, wrapping his arms around Eddie. “After we call the others, and call my parents. Oh, and I still have some of the rugelach Stan and Patty sent.”

“Yeah, of course, after all that. But then it’s just us.”

“Just us,” Richie echoes, quietly for once, and kisses Eddie’s temple, feather-light and almost reverent.

**Author's Note:**

> This owes a great deal to plot ideas from Amy and Liz! Happy holidays!


End file.
